Shadow Casting
by Scylla and Charybdis
Summary: Harry, instead of being attacked by the Dark Lord that Halloween night, was taken from the house instead, and spirited away by the Death Eaters to raise him on the side of Darkness. Mild language, slight gore, AU,  OOC. No slash.
1. Stolen from the Cradle

**Title:** Shadow Casting  
**Summary:** Harry, instead of being attacked by the Dark Lord that Halloween night, was taken from the house instead, and spirited away by the Death Eaters to raise him on the side of Darkness. However, when he gets his Hogwarts letter, Voldemort sends him to spy as best he can on Dumbledore  
**Warnings:** Erm. Well. AU-ness, possible OOC (in fact, Harry is OOC for the canon universe, but... eh). Possible slash, but not certain.  
**Rating:** T, for violence, swearing, etc.  
**Disclaimer:** *glances at nametag* Nope, not J. K. Rowling.  
**Notes:** Erm. Yeah. It's been done. As you can guess, this is AU, and there might be some slash (maybe) in the future. I will warn you if this happens, however, in my outline, so if you are offended by this you can ask for my outline or what happens and I will tell you. Anyway, read on.

I realize this chapter is short. I'll try to write longer.

I also realize that Voldemort is OOC. We don't see much of his character before he becomes a raving lunatic, so... I took some creative liberties. More info on that later.

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**Chapter 1: Stolen from the Cradle**

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**October 31, 1981  
****Potter Residence, Godric's Hollow**

Lily smiled at the black haired baby in her arms, rocking him gently. The hour was late, and little Harry was asleep, but James wasn't back from... wherever he'd been, and it was starting to worry her; she couldn't go to bed yet.

Humming quietly, she waved her wand at the dishes in the sink, absently sending a mug to the floor. She levitated it before it could crash and wake Harry, and glanced at the door again. There was no sign of her husband at all.

She finally settled with her son and a book in an armchair, but still couldn't focus on the words. The lines of text blurred in front of her eyes, and she sighed and closed it. Standing, Lily went upstairs to put Harry to bed when she heard a knock. Whirling around, knowing it could only be James at the door, she hurried to open it.

On the doorstep was Voldemort himself.

Immediately, she held Harry behind her and backed away, drawing her wand. The Dark Lord sneered and simply stepped over the threshold. "Pitiful..." he muttered, glancing at the red and gold décor with distaste evident in his inhuman eyes.

Lily tried to back to the stairs, but the man's eyes snapped to her and almost made her scream with the suddenness. "Hand over the boy," he snapped. "I know you won't believe me, pathetically stupid mudblood that you are, but I won't kill him. I haven't killed anybody tonight, much as I would like to end your pointless life."

She trembled and backed away again, whispering, "No, please not Harry, anyone but Harry, take me instead, you bastard."

Voldemort snarled wordlessly, and Lily found herself starting into a face that immortality had not been kind to. "If you hand him over, I won't kill you, or your abysmal excuse for a blood-traitor husband. However, if you don't _stand aside_, I will be forced to kill both of you. I need the boy alive, but you and his _father_—" he spat the word in contempt "—are quite expendable. Choose, girl. The boy is not irreplaceable, considering you are so young. Now stand aside, or I will kill you and take him. There is no point in resisting, mudblood."

Her hands were shaking. "If—" Her voice broke. Lily swallowed, and tried again. "If I give him to you, what would I tell James?" she asked, her voice quiet, but her stance defiant and her eyes flashing.

His lips pulled apart in a smile, and Lily shuddered. It was one of the scariest things she had ever seen. "Why, tell him the truth, of course. Aren't you _Gryffindors_ supposed to be the House of the brave and honest?" The word Gryffindors was very obviously an insult.

"What would happen to him?"

"Nothing to concern yourself with, girl. Stand aside."

Lily swallowed again, preparing to make one of the hardest decisions in her life.

* * *

Lord Voldemort smiled as he swept away from the house, the blanket wrapped bundle that was Harry Potter securely held in his arms. He would order Bella to care for the child, and to send questions and concerns to the house elves. It would be easy for her, with her own child barely conceived. She was off missions because of the delicacy of her condition, at Rodolphus's suggestion of the uselessness of a pregnant woman on the battlefield. They were emotionally unstable, he had reasoned, and were as likely to cry as they were to actually do anything.

He reached the edge of the Apparition wards and turned on his heel, catching a glimpse of the burning house with the Dark Mark emblazoned in the sky. It really was a shame about the Potters. They were one of the last of the ancient families left, and had only recently become less-than-pure. He had purged their line. They should be grateful.

At least he had the child of the prophecy. That was the important part. The Dark Lord's thoughts settled into his usual pattern at Lestrange Manor as he sent a house elf — his dear Bella had told them to obey him — to fetch Bellatrix from whatever she'd gotten into this time. It was time for her to work again, though in a different fashion.

After a moment of thought, he called for another house elf and sent after Lucius Malfoy. It was time James Potter learned not to meddle with Lord Voldemort.


	2. Letters and Shopping

**Notes:** Well, here I am, back with another chapter. More notes at the end.

I don't have a beta yet; would anyone interested review or PM me?

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**Chapter 2: Letters and Shopping**

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July 17, 1991  
****Hogwarts**

Minerva sighed and set the quill to writing out the letters for the new students again. It had finished the Ps just two minutes before, and she hadn't noticed until now that it had stopped writing. It flashed across the parchment, writing the letter and letting her sign it, the spells she had set picking up a supply list and folding both neatly — after the ink had dried, of course. Then they tucked them both in an envelope and addressed it to the student in question before setting it on a stack of envelopes already addressed. Minerva would look through them for any irregularities — in cases of child abuse, this was often what got the ball rolling, so to speak — and then send them on. It was a simple, almost mindless procedure, she thought as she flipped through the Ps.

Then she saw a name that shouldn't be there, couldn't be there, because he was supposed to be dead, and wasn't the address odd? She set it aside to bring up to Albus later.

* * *

The headmaster looked at her gravely over his half-moon spectacles, the letter in his hands trembling so slightly it was almost unnoticeable if you didn't know him well. But Minerva knew him since long before the war, and knew that the name on the envelope worried him greatly.

"Minerva, are you certain about this?" he asked, waving the letter gently.

Quietly, she replied, "You know I am, Albus. The quill never lies."

"Yes, yes, of course," he responded absently. "This is actually quite lucky. The dear boy has grown up without much knowledge of the magical world, we must assume, because of this address. We can teach him, and get him to the side of the Light, as is his rightful side."

"But — Albus — what does this mean?" she questioned, gesturing towards the letter with an ink-stained hand.

"The address? It is the address of someone under a Fidelius, of course. Someone who does not want to be found. Send it off with the others, Minerva. We shall see if it is replied to. Now, would you care for a lemon drop?" he asked, eyes back to their normal twinkle.

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July 18, 1991  
****Lestrange Manor**

Harry took a deep breath and looked up, searching for approval in his Lord's eyes. It was no use, as he had known since he'd first been taught Occlumency, but his hopes were childish anyway. There would be no room for them at Hogwarts.

Finally, his Lord nodded, once, to signify the end of the training session, and that he could go and have breakfast. Harry bowed and walked back to the manor at just the right pace, not too slow or too fast, to tell his lord he wasn't dawdling, but wasn't running. He had perfected this pace over the ten years he had spent with the dormant Dark Lord.

After the attack on Godric's Hollow, from which the Light side drew the conclusion that somehow Voldemort had tried to cast the Killing Curse on Harry, but failed, sending the house up in flames and killing them both, the Dark Lord had gone dormant, hiding in one of his loyal follower's manors and putting it under the Fidelius Charm. The rest of the world thought the Dark Lord was dead, and had celebrated for days.

Harry had been left with Bellatrix for most of his childhood, trained to become his Lord's heir and spy at Hogwarts. He saw his Lord every six months, where his progress would be tested with one of Bella's devising — approved of by the Dark Lord, of course. It would always be difficult, and Harry would do his best, and his Lord would send him into the manor, and he and Bellatrix would be in the study all day, discussing his results.

Today, however, was the last of them, because he would be going to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in September. It didn't matter whether or not he got the letter; he would be going.

"There you are, Harry. I've been looking for you everywhere." And that was Polaris Lestrange, Bella's son, one year younger than Harry. He'd gotten most of the Black family looks and was maturing into them, his hair starting to crimp into waves. Harry only hoped he didn't inherit the legendary Black insanity like his mother. "Mother's starting breakfast in twenty minutes. You'd better hurry."

Harry nodded, and hurried inside, quickly showering and changing into robes that were more appropriate for a breakfast table, with his family crest quietly emblazoned on the collar and the faint green tint to the black accenting his unusual eyes. Running a hand through his wet hair and attempting to get it to lie flat was useless, so he simply opened the door and headed downstairs at an acceptably sedate pace.

The places were set for a simple breakfast, with the creamy white plates minimally decorated with a silver flower border, and the cutlery silver with thin designs of flowers around the edges. As Harry sat down in his place, the house elves brought in Earl Grey tea and simple sugared scones, foods traditionally served at a breakfast before a day of business. Bellatrix must expect his school letter to come today, if she had ordered this breakfast. The next thing brought in would be a fruit salad, probably containing imported red apples as a subtle hint at health, berries for the anticipation of a long and fruitful summer, and plums, as a reminder of the sweetness of life but the stone of hardship as the core of every endeavor. It was a good mixture for the start of school shopping, and would probably be repeated before he left on the train. Then there would be a simple almond — again, imported — flan dusted with sugar, probably, for the platonic love a parent could show a child, or siblings could show each other. Harry always had been good at predicting things with proper knowledge.

Their breakfast had been almost exactly as Harry had predicted, with the substitution of creamy _tarte au citron_ for the almond flan, symbolizing the sour taste of fear on a guardian's tongue when their ward went off to a journey. It was something Harry expected to be served the morning of the first of September, not the day his letter came.

The house elves were just clearing away the dishes when an owl flew through the window, bearing a letter that it dropped at Harry's place. He let his lip curl slightly, showing his distaste at owls with crass enough manners to drop a letter on someone's food rather than getting the attention of a house elf to take the letter to their master. He would have to deal with it all the time at Hogwarts, though, so he supposed it didn't really matter. He smoothed out his face and let out an inaudible sigh through his nose as he picked up the letter and opened it.

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on September 1. We await your owl no later than July 31._

_Sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

He frowned slightly, the sides of his mouth pressed down to make barely perceptible dips in his cheeks, then pulled the supply list out from behind the letter itself. It seemed standard enough, and he could not find fault with it. Rodolphus held out a hand, and Harry passed him the papers. He read over them and nodded decisively.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to accompany you without a disguise, as my face is rather well-known in the Wizarding world," Bellatrix said. "We do need to stop by Diagon, though; I need to restock my ingredients stores, and Harry should get some new robes and books for school. What would the other pureblood families think of him if he brought second-hand?"

"My Lord? Do you have any directions for us?" Rodolphus asked.

Lord Voldemort, at the head of the table, said quietly, "I think, dear Bella, that you should wear a disguise, and disguise our boy as well, so people don't recognize him. Nothing body-shaping, of course, or his robes won't fit him quite right, but change his face. And do something about that hair."

Bella nodded and reached for her wand.

* * *

Twenty minutes of preparation later found Bellatrix, Harry, and Polaris in front of the brick wall to Diagon Alley, all three of them disguised as an ordinary mother and her two ordinary boys, all with straight, light brown hair and grey-blue eyes, though Polaris had kept his completely grey.

They made their way down the alley and entered Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions to get Harry fitted for his robes. Bellatrix left to purchase his books at Flourish and Blotts, and Polaris opted to stay and watch Harry being stuck with pins. He found it incredibly amusing, though Harry didn't see what was so funny.

About half an hour later, Madam Malkin called him down from the stool and slid the final robe over his head, waving her wand and directing the needle and thread to sew along the pin lines. By this time, Bellatrix had returned with a stack of books. She asked for another half an hour for them to finish, and directed them to Scrivenshaft's, the stationary store about ten shops down on the right.

They stopped there, and picked up the needed potions ingredients at the Apothecary before going back and getting his school robes. Polaris had gotten bored and his feet hurt, apparently, though Harry though he was acting the part of an annoyed younger brother who wanted to go too.

Their final stop was Ollivander's, the wand store, and Harry tried almost every wand in the shop before finally settling on an ash and unicorn hair wand, twelve and a quarter inches, from an oddly placid unicorn. Harry didn't really like that comparison, and made a face when they left the shop. Polaris proceeded to tease him relentlessly about the girliness of unicorns.

When they returned to the manor, the Dark Lord had retreated to the study. Bellatrix quickly sent him to his room with his new trunk and purchases to pack them away in the best manner possible, and Polaris to the library to continue his studies of the old pureblood lines, before she herself disappeared into the study to discuss Harry's results this morning.

Harry pulled out their purchases and his trunk and started folding clothes. It was an odd day, that Bellatrix would actually go to Diagon Alley instead of just sending a house elf to pick up the necessary items. They could have gotten his measurements and written them down. The wand would be a challenge, but they could have called Ollivander to the— well, all right, not the manor, but some place less public. And Harry could have sworn the glamor on his face flickered a few times.

He sighed and placed the last sock on the right side of the trunk. It was better to just finish packing; Bellatrix would be calling them down to lunch soon, and he had best be finished packing by that time.

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More Notes:** And now we skip to a few weeks before Harry's eleventh birthday, when he gets his Hogwarts letter (remember, the Dursleys stopped him from getting it until his birthday, but he first got the letter a few weeks before). I'm just guessing at the date, by the way.

About the food: I'm completely making most of the symbolism up, by the way. Apples are for health because "an apple a day keeps the doctor away", and if they were green it would be a wish for bad health. _Tarte au citron_ is an excellent French pastry with a stiff, pie crust-like outer shell and an almost creamy lemon filling. Look it up on the Interwebs and see what you can find.

I'm not sure how to spell Rodolphus, so if anyone knows and can inform me, that would be great.

In this AU, Voldemort never really attempted to kill Harry; he only kidnapped him. This Voldemort is a bit more sane and a bit more smart, and Bella is the same. Bellatrix is more tolerant with children she's raised and can injure with well placed jabs to their weaknesses, while other children are simply tortured with the Cruciatus. Other children annoy her, so she's raised Harry and Polaris to be quiet and respectful and to follow the pureblood mannerisms that she was taught by her parents. Except without the insanity.

Harry, since he's quiet and hasn't gotten so deeply linked to Voldemort, gets a different wand than in canon. Ash is a wood symbolizing balance in the Celtic tree calendar (check my profile for the link), and unicorns are more of a Dark creature than phoenixes, because phoenixes are the ultimate light creature and all that. Plus, he's more quiet, right? And dragons are wild, so unicorn seemed like the best choice.

Why Bellatrix made him pack today instead of the day before: He has the robes for the rest of the summer, so he doesn't need those. I think she just wanted him out of the way with a task to do so he didn't interrupt her meeting with the Dark Lord. Or she's planning something. How should I know? (Oh, wait, I'm the authoress. Oops.)

If these are annoying, I'm sorry. I just didn't want to confuse anyone. I can link them from my profile, I guess….

Again, I will say: I don't have a beta yet; would anyone interested review or PM me?


	3. Lit by Candles

**Notes:** Another chapter. And Hogwarts! Read on, my friends, read on.

I've had several people subscribe to this story, subscribe to me, or add this story to their faves list, but only one person has reviewed! I feel so sad! Please, please, _please_, REVIEW! Thank you for the alerts and faves though! It makes me happy~!

I DON'T OWN THE EXCERPTS FROM PS/SS IN THIS CHAPTER; THEY BELONG TO THE MARVELOUS J. K. ROWLING.

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Chapter 3: Lit by Candles**

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September 1, 1991  
Platform 9 ¾**

Apart from the hustle and bustle of the platform, Harry bid Bella and Polaris goodbye and stepped on to the train, carrying a knapsack full of books, a sandwich, and a flask of tea for the journey. His sandwich contained reminders of safety, health, and the growth of knowledge, and was a standard lunch for the Hogwarts Express.

Finding an empty compartment was easy enough, and he was soon seated against the window with the Potions textbook, reading it for the second time. The train ride passed in close-to-silence, with a small interruption from the Malfoy heir, who introduced himself and his "friends", who were really just goons. Parkinson stopped by, and so did Zabini, but no one stayed long. When the sun set, Harry changed into his robes and continued to read, reviewing the seventh chapter.

The train stopped at Hogsmeade station a little more than an hour later, and the students quickly got off the train and headed to the carriages. There was a loud bellow of "Firs' years! Firs' years! This way!" and Harry headed in the general direction of the loud voice, the source of which was a huge man almost twice the size of any normal person. Harry wondered absently if he had giant blood.

The man, who told them to call him Hagrid, took them along a path, giving them their first sight of Hogwarts. Almost all of the huge castle's windows were lit, and they were quite obviously trying to impress the first years. It worked. There was a loud, collective "Ooooh!" as they rounded the curve in the path, and Harry lifted an eyebrow.

Hogwarts Castle was huge, with each window lit up to shine through the darkness like a beacon. The towers spiraled into the sky, piercing the slight cloud cover with conical roofs, the rough stonework illuminated by the light that was obviously created artificially — it would be a complete waste of candles otherwise. Below the castle, the lake swept out in glittering waves of water, narrowing into streams at points and eventually ducking under a stone outcropping to create some sort of grotto that was likely to be their entrance to Hogwarts. The forest reached to the edge of the lake in places, sporadically pulling back enough for a rocky beach to have formed, though the beach was probably the cause of the retreated tree-line.

Hagrid led them on their way down the path, someone occasionally tripping or stumbling on the steep slope. The first years spread out along the beach at the bottom, some glancing nervously at the boats that had been used for hundreds of years.

"Come on, don't be shy. No more'n four to a boat!" the man shouted. "Everyone in? Right then— FORWARD!"

Harry ended up in a boat with three other boys, two of which had clearly just hit it off on the train, considering one needed to explain things quite a lot. The other had a nervous stutter and a habit of dropping whatever he was holding when someone spoke to him. Harry felt a slight stab of pity for the boy, whom, he could see from the shape of his eyes and the tilt of his head, was a Longbottom. Was this really the child of Frank and Alice? He seemed rather pitiful, for a pureblood (1).

They reached the overhang quickly, and Hagrid yelled, almost too late, "Duck your heads!" The lanterns' light flickered off the water and reflected onto the walls with a greenish cast, giving the tunnel they were going down an eerie glow. The boats drifted down the tunnel towards the edge of the cave it opened into, where there was a small beach of pebbles. Hagrid seemed to have found the toad of the Longbottom boy, and handed it to him before leading the first years through a rocky tunnel and out onto the grass in front of what seemed to be the main doors.

"Everyone here? You there, still got you toad?" he asked before pounding on the doors. They opened, revealing a stern witch in emerald robes with features similar to those of the McGonagall family.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall."

Ah. So she was a McGonagall. That made sense. It seemed that there would be a difficult teacher to get around; McGonagalls were notoriously in Gryffindor.

"Thank you, Hagrid, I will take them from here," she said, before opening the doors wider and ushering them inside.

The entrance hall was large, but not quite due the gasps and open mouths of awe the first years were giving it. Harry was certain there would be more significant sights to come. The book _Hogwarts: A History_ told of moving staircases, a ceiling that reflected the night sky, and secret passages. When he asked Bellatrix if this was true, she simply smiled mysteriously and changed the subject.

He walked with the rest of the sheep across the hall and into a smaller chamber, much too small for the many children, and stood quietly bristling at the invasion of his personal space.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be Sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room.

"The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin." Harry noted her mention of Slytherin House last, and the expression of distaste that crossed her face before she hid it was interesting. "Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn you House points, while and rule-breaking will lose House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours." There was a large outbreak of whispering at the word "honor", and Harry concluded that the House points were mostly a waste of time.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting." Her eyes swept over them, pausing slightly at the messier students, including the Longbottom boy and a boy with red hair who was undoubtedly a Weasley.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," she said. "Please wait quietly." She left, the door closing with a solid _thunk_.

Harry stood and listened to his yearmates explode into whispering, probably guessing what the Sorting would be like. Bellatrix had told him that he would find out when he was Sorted, and that there was no point in guessing when he would know in a few minutes. The Parkinson girl was whispering and giggling with Bulstrode, and Zabini was speaking in low tones to Malfoy. Then, several shrill screams split the air surrounding him, and he spun to see what they were shrieking about.

It was just the ghosts. Honestly, were these idiots all Mudbloods (1)? He rolled his eyes and watched the pearly white specters argue— probably about Peeves, the poltergeist. The Fat Friar was taking Peeves' side, it seemed, while Sir Nicholas was going on about how Peeves had had all the chances he would get, and they should exorcise him. Harry agreed, even though Nick was the Gryffindor ghost.

Then the knight noticed them, and Harry sighed. The Fat Friar was always overly friendly to the new students. Harry sneered in distaste.

"New students!" he said, beaming down at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose? Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old House, you know."

"Move along, now," said the cutting voice of Professor McGonagall from the front of the room. The students turned to face her, most of the chatter silencing under her stern stare. "Form a line, please, and follow me." She led them out of the chamber, across the entrance hall again, and through the big double doors to the Great Hall.

The Great Hall was magnificent, the thousands of candles lighting it casting the ceiling into shadow. The four House tables, long and filled with robe-clad bodies, were all facing the Head table, expectant faces like moons of light. Harry shivered.

Professor McGonagall placed an old hat, patched and frayed and dirty, on a four-legged stool, before stepping back and watching it. Everyone else stared at it too, and Harry felt the edge of nervousness creep into his stomach. Irritated, he banished it.

And then the hat started to sing.

"_Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,  
But don't judge on what you see,  
I'll eat myself if you can find  
A smarter hat than me.  
You can keep your bowlers black,  
Your top hats sleek and tall,  
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat,  
And I can cap them all.  
There's nothing hidden in your head,  
The Sorting Hat can't see,  
So try me on and I will tell you  
Where you ought to be.  
You might belong in Gryffindor,  
Where dwell the brave at heart,  
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry  
Set Gryffindors apart;  
You might belong in Hufflepuff,  
Where they are just and loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true  
And unafraid of toil;  
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
If you've a ready mind,  
Where those of wit and learning,  
Will always find their kind;  
Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folk use any means  
To achieve their ends.  
So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"_

So, it seemed no one really liked Slytherin. It was probably because there were so many perceived "evil" people who had come from that House. Harry rolled his eyes. Honestly, the idiots. Didn't they know that almost all the politicians (except for Fudge, the blibbering moron, how did he become Minister in the first place anyway?) were from Slytherin? And the Dark Lord was cleansing the Wizarding World of the impurity that Mudbloods and Muggles brought with them, and they hated him (1). Fools, all of them.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and stepped forward with a long roll of parchment. "When I call your name," she said, silencing the quiet chatter that had started up in the ending of the Sorting Hat's song, "you will put on the Hat and sit on the stool to be Sorted. Abbott, Hannah!"

And so the Sorting went on while Harry brooded, the metaphorical rain cloud over his head growing darker every minute. He looked up, however, when they reached the Ps, anticipating the look on the Great White Coot's face when the name of someone who was supposedly dead was called out.

The hat Sorted Perks, Sally-Anne, and McGonagall finally cleared her throat and read out, "Potter, Harry!" It sounded almost hopeful, like a question. Instant silence fell. Harry smirked and stalked up to the hat. Gasps rang out across the hall, the echoes multiplying the sound by ten, and the shocked looks on their faces were worth indeed eleven years of anonymity. He sat on the stool and placed the hat on his head.

A little voice spoke into his ear. "Hmm...? What do we have here?"

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(1): Harry's been raised by the Dark side. Do you really think he'd be a golden boy, perfect and kind in every way? No. I don't entirely agree with his thinking, but this is clearly how JKR says the Dark purebloods raise their children.

Three cheers for snow days! Even if they're only, like, an inch of snow. Because the school overreacts sometimes. AWESOMENESS SHALL ENSUE! KESESESE! (Please note that I do not own the awesomeness that is Hetalia, or Prussia.)

I repeat: PLEASE REVIEW! You really have no idea (or maybe you do) how much an author loves getting reviews. They really do make my day. Almost as much as hot chocolate. Mmm... chocolate...


	4. Not According to Plan

**Notes:** I'm looking into finding a beta reader, but if anyone has any recommendations, I'd be happy to check them out. Please review. (Some have answered the call, but many more have not! So many views, yet so few reviewers...)

There is a poll up on my profile, asking who you would like Harry to be paired with. I know it seems soon, but I have to start setting things up now, so I'd like your opinion. Please vote.

Snape would not shut up. I apologize for those blocks of text down there.

I'm sorry for being late, but life and not knowing how to say what I want to have crushed this chapter. The next one will be out on time, I swear. And this one is short, too... I'm so sorry...

ANYTHING TAKEN FROM THE BOOKS IS NOT MINE, AND BELONGS TO JKR. CLEAR?

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Chapter 4: Not According To Plan**

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September 1, 1991  
Hogwarts, Great Hall**

"Dear, dear, it appears that you are whom the Headmaster spoke of. Harry Potter, is it? Yes." There was a distinct sense of someone riffling through his memories, and it was quite disturbing. Harry attempted to block the intruder with his Occlumency, but the hat just continued after an amused laugh.

From what he could see of the Great Hall under the hat, the students were gaping at him, probably hoping for a glimpse of the boy who defeated the greatest Dark Lord of the century. Under the hat, he smirked. The gullible idiots. He'd have to tell his Lord of this, even though the man would be displeased and definitely believed in the saying, "Kill the messenger".

"Oh, my, that's interesting. There's really only one place for you, my boy, no matter what the Headmaster says. I suppose I'd better say... SLYTHERIN!"

Harry could tell the hat had shouted that last to the Hall, but simply sat in increasing confusion as three of the tables looked slightly disappointed while one celebrated. And the Gryffindors had no right to be yelling, "We got Potter!" — he wasn't Sorted into Gryffindor.

He felt a tap on his shoulder and Professor McGonagall — with a hint of triumph in her eyes, he was disturbed to note — asked him to take off the hat and walk to his table, please. He was sure she meant the Gryffindor table, and she needed the hat to continue with the Sorting, but he knew there had been a misunderstanding in the Sorting, and so simply handed her the hat and got off the stool, but didn't start walking toward the Gryffindor or Slytherin tables. He sat on the steps patiently, and waited.

The lions looked confused. Of course, they weren't used to using the one brain cell they possessed, so they obviously couldn't understand that someone would not sit where they were 'supposed' to. His fellow Slytherins jeered at him, saying things like, "Sit with your lion friends, Potter!"

Harry called back to them, "Your ears need to be checked, clearly, because I heard Slytherin. I would never willingly be friends with that group of morons. Obviously, there has been an error." He sneered, before continuing in a quieter tone, "Professor, there are still children to Sort."

That seemed to shock her out of her standstill and she continued, clearing her throat and reading out the the next name, "Thomas, Dean!"

Harry sat, and waited for the Sorting to finish. McGonagall tried to shoo him off the stairs, but he simply requested a meeting with the Headmaster. She sighed and motioned to Dumbledore to come, and Harry looked at Snape significantly, hoping he could take a hint. The Potions Master scowled, sent him a dark look, and stood. The Headmaster stood as well, but only so he could say his "few words" before the feast.

"And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

Harry _knew_ the legendary leader of the Light was barmy now.

Said barmy coot left the staff table, eyes twinkling and starry robes flashing in a rather eye-burning fashion, and Harry followed behind him. He could hear faintly the swish and waft of robes, and knew the Professors were following them.

Dumbledore led them up to his office, the gargoyle looking as fearsome as it had been described in _Hogwarts: A History_. "Lemon drop!" he exclaimed cheerfully, though his smile was a bit forced and his voice a bit too bright. He was losing.

Harry's inner Gryffindor (everyone had them, some a bit more suppressed than other's) did a mad dance of victory, involving much whooping and cartwheels. Harry's inner self rolled his eyes at him, and turned his attention back to the Headmaster, who had seated himself at his desk and was twinkling at them.

Harry controlled his urge to blink in surprise at the piece of the universe he was missing and seated himself in a chair. Dumbledore waved his wand merrily and conjured two squashy chintz armchairs for the Professors. They looked at them with mirrored expressions of disgust and sat primly on the edge of the cushion, in unison. Dumbledore chuckled and Harry let a small smile flit across his face.

But that was not the point of the meeting. "Headmaster," Harry began, hoping this could get his attention. "We have a meeting we need to complete."

"Ah, yes, thank you, my boy. Well, Severus, Minerva, Mr Potter, there seems to be a bit of argument on which House this child was Sorted into."

"Yes, even though the whole hall heard the hat shout Gryffindor, where he belongs." Snape sneered.

"I disagree," Harry said quietly. "I most definitely heard it Sort me into Slytherin, and I'll thank you not to lump me in with those idiotic loud-mouths."

McGonagall looked offended, and Harry reconsidered his open insults. He would have to bury them instead of stating them, something no Gryffindor could figure out. Dumbledore blinked, and his twinkles faded slightly. "I suppose we'll have to ask the hat, then," he said, an odd aura starting to surround him. It was... almost—

"Why, Headmaster, that boy's a Slytherin, all the way through. I wouldn't have Sorted him into Gryffindor. I did feel a glamour on me then, though, so at least you have a lead."

Dumbledore's eyes... He couldn't quite place the emotion in them. "I see. Thank you, hat."

"Anytime, Albus."

With what seemed to be a bit of an effort, the Headmaster composed himself and twinkled at them merrily. "Well, let's all go down to the feast, shall we?"

* * *

"...I must tell you that the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to those who do not wish to die a very painful death. Finally, regarding the Sorting of one Mr Potter, he has been placed in Slytherin. For the person who put a sound glamor over the hat, it was not funny, and if you are caught we will be considering suspension or — in the worst case — expulsion. If you have any information or want to confess, please go to a teacher. And now, before we go to bed, we must sing the school song!"

Harry thought it was rather idiotic to say they were considering expulsion right before asking the students to turn someone in. It didn't matter who it was, it would be betraying one of their own to the adults. Except, of course, if it was a Gryffindor ratting out a Slytherin, or vice versa.

He observed the teachers' forced smiles with trepidation and a sense of foreboding, and decided to wait through the song without singing.

"Everyone pick your favorite tune, and off we go!"

"_Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,  
Teach us something please,  
Whether we be old and bald  
Or young with scabby knees,  
Our heads could do with filling  
With some interesting stuff,  
For now they're bare and full of air,  
Dead flies and bits of fluff,  
So teach us things worth knowing,  
Bring back what we've forgot,  
Just do your best, we'll do the rest,  
And learn until our brains all rot."_

Everyone finished at different times, until only a pair of red-headed twins (Weasleys, obviously) were left singing to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted the last few lines and wiped a tear from his eye. "Ah, music," he said, "a magic beyond all that we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

A large Slytherin with a badge on his chest that read "P" called for the first years, motioning them toward him with a wave of his hand. Harry followed the rest of them, quietly waiting with his yearmates for them to be led to the dungeons. The prefect, for that was who he was, introduced himself as Marcus Flint, a sixth year (1). He said Professor Snape would likely give them a Start of Term speech, telling them the rules and such, and so they were to follow him down to the Common Room. Flint led them across the entrance hall and down a flight of stairs, into what Harry presumed were the dungeons.

The trip was a bit long, but they got there after Snape, who was standing in the middle of the common room looking intimidating. "Alright, sit down, no talking," he snapped, and the Slytherins did so while most of them attempted to make it seem like their own idea. They were a lot like cats that way.

"Welcome," he said, sweeping back and forth in front of them, "to Slytherin House. Each of you are expected to hold up certain standards which will not be broken on pain of detention. My detentions can be _very_ unpleasant and I advise you not to tempt fate. These standards are essential for a mostly-peaceful seven years here, as you will see from the Gryffindors tomorrow.

"Slytherins will, at all times, stick together. I don't particularly care if you don't like someone, keep your fights to a minimum and in the Common Room only. You are not to travel the halls after supper alone. If the only person available is this person you hate, well— it is better to be in uncomfortable silence than hexed. We must present an unbreakable front to the school, even if this is not the case. If they find any weaknesses, we will be destroyed.

"There will be no mention of any kind of Dark magic. The rest of the school seems to think it is evil, as does the Ministry, and you could be expelled if you frequently refer to anyone — yourself included — using it. There will also be no speaking of the Dark Lord. Anyone who does so might provide enough evidence to get someone arrested, and no one likes a tattle-tale." He seemed to be glaring a bit at Harry when he said this, and Harry quickly ducked his head.

"You will complete all your schoolwork satisfactorily. If you cannot, or would like to check that it is so, ask a prefect or me. Similarly, if you have any questions about your classwork or school rules, ask a prefect or me.

"About school rules, you are not to get caught. This is true of anything. If you are caught, I don't want you in my House, because you were stupid or careless, and therefore not worthy of being in Slytherin House. Now off to bed with you, and don't disappoint me tomorrow."

The students shuffled off to their dormitories, some yawning, others blinking in their tiring state. Harry was about to follow when his Head of House called him back. He turned, keeping his eyes lowered. "Yes, sir?"

Snape sneered in distaste. "Follow me, Mr Potter."

He was led out of the Common Room and up to the Professor's office, where Snape gestured for him to sit in a chair before his desk. He sat meekly, not knowing what he had done to earn the ire of the Potions Master. When he glanced up, Snape was sitting behind his desk staring at him.

"Mr Potter, you must know that I will not tolerate any transgressions from you, ever. If you so much as put a toe out of line and I hear about it, you shall be punished. I don't want to hear of the same kind of arrogance your father displayed, am I clear?"

"With all due respect, sir, James Potter neither was, is, or will be any father of mine."

Snape looked slightly startled, then masked it as quickly as he could. "Am I clear, Mr Potter?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. You may go."

The door closed with an ominous thud.

* * *

(1): I looked on the Lexicon, and it stated that Flint was a sixth year Quidditch captain who repeated his seventh year. I'm simply assuming he was a prefect who got his badge taken away later. If anyone has evidence to the contrary, I'd like to hear it, as long as you don't go off on a The Reason You Suck Speech or something similar, because those hurt my feelings.

If you're wondering why Harry's being shy all of a sudden, he's acting. When in doubt, act apologetic, after all.

Next one might be longer, but certainly will be up in time. See you next week!


End file.
